


The Return of Ulysses

by alcyone (Alcyone301)



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyone301/pseuds/alcyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen is lost, but Jack is not alone.</p><p>Spoiler alert: Spoilers for several books, especially for <span class="u">The Far Side of the World</span>, but also including <span class="u">Post Captain</span>, <span class="u">Desolation Island</span>, <span class="u">Treason’s Harbour</span>, and <span class="u">Reverse of the Medal</span>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crossing to Suez

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the incomparable alltoseek  
> Thanks also to JessamyGriffith for advice and support.

• Treason's Harbour, ch. 6: Captain Aubrey writes to his wife Sophie, recounting the march of the Surprises across the desert to rendezvous with _Niobe_ at Suez.

 

... We crossed the isthmus sooner than I had thought possible, because a Turkish guide had filled their heads with tales of ghosts and genii, and the poor silly fellows hurried forward all night long, dreading to be left any distance behind. And unhappily there was always something to keep them in a high pitch of superstitious dread. There was always some creature to howl or scream like a soul in torment at dawn or dusk or both. “Oh, oh,” cried my pack of idiots, “it’s ghouls – we are lost.”  
And I must say that Stephen was not always quite as discreet as he might have been. When Parson Martin tried to dismiss ghouls and the like as weak superstition he set him down with the Witch of Endor and the Gadarene swine and evil spirits by the dozen out of Holy Writ – cited all sorts of classical ghosts, appealed to the unvarying tradition of all nations and ages, and gave us a circumstantial account of a Pyrenean werewolf of his acquaintance that absolutely terrified the younger mids.

 

'… and never mind all these classical and biblical instances of ghosts, witches, spirits – in the mountains of northern Catalonia, where I was born, there have been werewolves since before we knew how to make wine from grapes, or shear a sheep.’ 

Williamson asked, 'What's a werewolf?'

'A werewolf is both man and wolf, or rather neither. He is an anomalous creature, one who appears a normal child until one day, usually about the age of young Boyle here, the full moon heralds his change into a wolf, and he runs and hunts with the wolves for a time.'

Boyle, who had blushed when referred to, piped up: 'Is he dangerous?'

'Certainly. He is a wild beast, confused and frightened to be among men – young werewolves will savage any who try to restrain them – even members of their own families.'

Maitland asked, 'If they're just little, do they become little wolves?'

'Of course they do.'

'But then how do they survive?'

'Some do not. The hand of every man is against them, Nature is indifferent, and the born wolves to whom they are drawn may choose to drive them away, or slay them. But after a few days, three or so, they can revert to human form, by the blessing of God. For this they must go to the chapel of San Francesco near Montserrat, there to pray at the altar and receive the blessing of the priest. By tradition, the doors of the chapel are always open, a light burns always on the altar, and no wolf is molested or hindered in the vicinity – indeed, I have seen wolves walk into the chapel myself. There is an ancient wooden triptych -'

Calamy interrupted, 'Oh, I should love to be a big wolf! Everyone afraid of me, able to go anywhere, no uniforms to worry about, no trigonometry …'

Stephen replied, a touch impatiently, 'You might think so, but even if their first change happens when they are older – and they are at first even more savage, more fearful, because more confused, in that case – they are wholly concerned with survival in a harsh and hostile world, hunted by men and shunned by their own kind –'

'But you said nobody harms them!'

'Not around Montserrat, no, but few werewolves are fortunate enough to be there when they change for the first time. Elsewhere, even natural wolves are feared, hunted, killed without mercy. A werewolf must somehow feed himself, avoiding predatory beasts, including or I should say especially men, and make his way to the chapel as well. And the longer he stays a wolf, the less chance he will remember how to pray.'

Boyle asked, 'Sir, is this, you know, a story?'

'Not at all,' Stephen replied, with a sharp glance at the boy, 'I have seen a few myself, and indeed knew one quite well. He was a student at Montserrat, as I was, and first changed very young. Everyone knew about it, but it was never discussed or taken particular notice of; the brothers were very kind.'

'Was he fierce?' 

'Did you ever see him change?'

'Yes, certainly, very fierce, very dangerous. I spent a great deal of time in the woods, myself, but I never saw him change.' Shaking his head sadly, he added, 'I did see some of his work, alas – animals with their throats torn out, flesh and viscerae devoured, bones broken and scattered, never enough left to dissect with any hope of learning anything. 

'But he always returned to his studies as if nothing had happened, and when he was a wolf, he remembered his prayers; and so he continued at the monastery awhile. As he grew older he was seen to protect the brothers and innocent travellers, pilgrims, from the occasional ruffian who tried his fortune in the shadow of the great monastery, and he refrained from slaughtering domestic animals, indeed drove bears away from the woods round about. And he always changed back as soon as he might. He had many friends among the brothers, and when he was a young man, the priest of the chapel gave him a reliquary, which had such power that he could revert after three days, wherever he was, by bowing himself down upon it and praying …'

‘What's a reliquary?’ asked Williamson. 

‘Something that holds a relic of a saint - often a finely worked and valuable chest, sometimes a crucifix.’ 

‘Like yours?’ 

‘Yes, not unlike,’ he replied, startled. 

‘May I see?’ 

After a pause, he drew it from beneath his shirt: a small cross in gold, the crucifix reserved in black enamel; he closed his hand over it. ‘This is a crucifix. Reliquary crosses are usually quite a bit bigger than this,’ he said, tucking it back under the cloth. 

Maitland asked, ‘What if that werewolf loses his? What would happen?’ 

‘Why, I suppose he would remain a wolf all his days. But I am sure he would be very careful to leave it somewhere safe, and secret.’ 

Calamy cried, ’I wouldn't care! I would love to be a wolf, big and fierce. I could eat fresh meat every day, I could smell the weather, and run like the wind, and never be cold. And I could sleep whenever I wanted to. I wouldn't want to come back. I would be king of the forest!’ 

Stephen smiled, briefly. ‘Maybe when you are grown up, strong and experienced, it would be good to see and hear and smell so much more than we do as humans, to be lord of the forests, the mountains, the night. But think of it, now, close your eyes and think,’ he said, his voice lower, softer. ‘You are lying in your cot one night, tired out, and yet you can't sleep. You are uncomfortably warm under the covers, you keep changing position – none seems quite right for more than a minute – you itch, you scratch at your arm _with your teeth_ – you leap up, startled – you drop to all fours, everything is strange: you find you can see quite clearly in the dark; you can hear the smallest sounds, moths landing on the wall, the air moving, your own heart pounding; your nose tells you more about the world than you could ever have imagined; and you are hungry, fiercely hungry. You hear howling far off, and you are drawn to it; you creep out of your room, and the first person you see – your friend, perhaps, your brother, maybe your own mother – screams at the sight of you, bars the door against you, and you are outside, running, running ..’

Martin exclaimed, ‘Doctor, pray stop, the boys are rigid with fear.’ To the boys he said, in a gentle but firm voice, ‘Open your eyes, now, look at the good fire and think of the dear Lord who loves you, and would not cast you into the body of a soulless animal. My word, I had no idea you were such a powerful story-teller. It's just a story, lads.’

‘Well,’ replied Stephen, a little bit testily, ‘but it's all true. Werewolves are not weird, they are just wolves when they are wolves, and men when they are men – and in terrible danger, and terribly dangerous, when they change.’ Aside, he said, ‘Soulless animals, is it? Dear Martin, I should like to debate the point with you, some time. Sure I have the good St Francis on my side in this.’ 

They handed around their supper, and ate with varying degrees of appetite. After a while, Boyle asked, 'Are there any werewolves outside of Catalonia?' 

Stephen, upon reflection regretting the effect of his tale, replied, ‘Perhaps a few, but nothing you need worry about. It's the dark of the moon, for one thing. And we are perfectly safe. Sure, Captain Aubrey would not let any creature hurt his men; a werewolf who dared show his face in this camp would be cleaved in two before he could draw a breath.’

In a small voice, Boyle asked, 'But … what if I am one?' 

Stephen looked assessingly at him. 'Here, open your mouth – tip your head, so – your teeth are perfectly normal, I see no whiskers. Are any of your relatives werewolves? No? You are unlikely to be a werewolf, then; perhaps to be sure you might say your prayers nightly.’

Later, as they trudged along on the hard-packed sand, the stars bright above, the lanterns at the camel’s tails so many beacons, Jack fell back to walk alongside Stephen. 

‘That was quite the tale about the werewolves, Stephen. Was it true?’

‘Perfectly true. Why does everyone question that? Werewolves are as much a natural phenomenon as beetles or palm trees, differing only in the dearth of specimens to study. What I didn't tell the boys is that they are tolerably common throughout Europe and North America, although I have never heard of them in Asia or the Antipodes. But they are unlikely to see one – at least knowingly – werewolves being rather shy of men.’ 

‘If you found one, would you collect it? Shoot it and dissect it?’

Stephen stared at Jack. 'I would not. It would be murder, black murder. You must remember the werewolf is a man as well as a wolf.’ 

‘Do you shoot wolves?’

‘Yes, I have done.’ 

‘How d'ye know you haven't shot a werewolf, then?’

‘My word, Jack, you are asking sharp questions tonight. But your answer is, because when a werewolf dies in wolf form he reverts to human, to a human corpse. There are such tales of men slaying their own children, their wives or brothers, all unknowing, the pity of the world. Tragic tales, and perhaps a lesson to kill no creature without thought and need.’ 

Reflecting a few moments, he said, ‘Will I tell you of St Brigid, so?’

‘Yes, please do.’ 

‘Well, and St Brigid was a beautiful girl, full of grace; everyone could see the light of the holy spirit on her. There was a king in it, who had a tame wolf by him, and he loved the wolf, the only tame one in Ireland. Now there was a bounty on wolves, of course, and one day by mischance a poor woodcutter slew the king's wolf, thinking to claim the bounty; but when he brought the body to the court, the king was enraged, and threw him into a cell and ordered his execution. 

‘So Brigid heard of this, and went to the court, to intercede for the life of the woodcutter, and as she passed through the woods in her carriage a golden wolf, as big as a pony, jumped in beside her, enthralled by her sanctity, and laying his head in her lap made his obeisance to her. 

‘When she came into the court, she bade the king release the woodcutter, saying, “See, I have brought you a wolf more noble than any in Ireland, and tame as a dove; he shall be your companion, if you but spare the life of the woodcutter.” So the king did that thing, delighted to have such a wolf at his side; and as they left the court, St Brigid charged the woodcutter, whose forfeit life was spared, henceforth to kill nothing except in need, in the name of the blessed Trinity.'

Silence. 

'As big as a pony?' Jack asked. 

‘Yes, my dear, so the tale goes,’ said Stephen with a sigh.

~•~•~•~

~•~•~•~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are the property of the much-regretted Patrick O’Brian and his heirs, and are borrowed with profound respect and love.
> 
> Beta: the awesome alltoseek
> 
> NOTES:  
> Specific passages, as well as the general story arc, were adapted, abbreviated and/or paraphrased from Aubreyad canon, with sincere apologies to the spirit of Patrick O’Brian. These include:  
> In chapter 1: The header paragraph is from Treason’s Harbour, ch. 6.
> 
> ~•~•~•~


	2. Kind Night That Covers Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen is lost, but Jack is not alone.
> 
> Spoiler alert: Spoilers for several books, especially for The Far Side of the World, but also including Post Captain, Desolation Island, Treason’s Harbour, and Reverse of the Medal. 
> 
> Retrospective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: the incomparable alltoseek  
> Thanks also to JessamyGriffin for advice and support.

• Post Captain, ch.3. Stephen walks from Melbury to Mapes by night. 

Stephen walked slowly at first, his heart and breathing quite undisturbed, but when the familiar miles had passed under him and he started to climb Polcary, the stronger rhythm had returned, increasing as all his resolution fell away, and by the time he reached the top of the hill his heart was keeping time with his brisk busy watch. ‘Thump, thump, thump, you fool,’ he said smiling as he timed it. ‘A pretty sight I should look. Kind night that covers me.’  
More slowly now, his senses keen for the least movement in the wood. Dim, fast asleep among its trees, the vague shape of the house, and at its far end the one square eye in the tower, shining out.  
Down to the elms, silent and thick-leaved now: the house full-view. And under the elms his own cob tethered to a hazel-bush.

~•~•~•~

‘Jack,’ he said at breakfast next morning, ‘I think I must leave you: I shall see whether I can find a place on the mail.’

‘Leave me!’ cried Jack, perfectly aghast. ‘Oh, surely not?’

‘I am not entirely well, and conceive that my native air might set me up.’

It took Stephen the interval between breakfast and the coming of the post to quiet his friend – ‘he knew his disease perfectly – had suffered from it before – it was nothing a man could die of – he knew the cure – the malady was called _solis deprivatio_.’

‘The taking away of the sun?’ cried Jack. ‘Are you making game of me, Stephen? You cannot be thinking of going to Ireland for the sun.’

‘It was a kind of dismal little joke,’ said Stephen. ‘But I had meant Spain rather than Ireland. You know I have a house in the mountains behind Figueras: part of its roof has fallen in, the part where the sheep live – I must attend to it. Bats there are, free-tailed bats, that I have watched for generations. Here is the post,’ he said, going to the window and reaching out. ‘You have one letter. I have none.’

'Excuse me, Stephen.' Jack read his letter, folded it up and put it in his pocket with a snort. 'Deverell about his boy. Would I take him aboard? Aboard what? I don't have a ship and there’s little likelihood of one.'

Ignoring this, Stephen said, 'I shall go to London, I believe, and look to my affairs there. I will return in a week or two. I did not intend to leave for Spain immediately, in any case; the bats will still be there. '

~•~•~•~

In his rooms at the Grapes, by the light of a single candle and a banked fire, Stephen wrote in his diary.

'The increasing gap between transformations in the last few years has led me to hypothesise that the condition may be characteristic of youth, and that I shall grow out of it. I have thought my mongrel nature may perhaps be responsible for the irregularity, the _faoladh_ being freed of his condition after seven years, as we are told. But it is also possible that it is not maturation itself that suppresses the change, but composure or tranquility; in the latter case, may not the regular use of laudanum, that bottled tranquility, serve to free me of the change? Alas, there is no data, nobody to ask; I can observe only myself and hope for insight at the last. 

'I would so heartily welcome control over my changes. In any case it is a blessing that I can foresee, as early as the first quarter, that I will change at the full. Without that foreknowledge, I could never venture upon the sea – unthinkable, the effect of changing under the eye of a hundred superstitious, martial men. As it is, the change has become sporadic enough that I have only rarely been required to request time ashore, or to extend leave past the agreed-upon time; had I been forced to this with any regularity, surely even such a confiding soul as Jack would have noticed.

'When I came upon my own cob, tethered by Diana's tower, I fled; I hardly know what I felt, but by the time I reached Melbury, I knew I should change at the next full moon. I meant to leave and perhaps never return, but Jack’s generous concern, in spite of what he must surely know to be our oh so timeworn condition, pregnant as it is with tragedy, has convinced me to muster what fortitude I can and endure, at least a while longer. 

‘I shall leave London before the moon reaches the full; I yearn to run in the hills awhile, and if I look into my own heart (that most futile of observations) I fear I see rage alongside the pain, perhaps even a desire to kill, red barbarity hidden under the mantle of hunger. I long to be shut of my daily-demonstrated inferiority, this rising tide of defeat, proving me wholly unfit to aspire to Diana's regard. But whether I shall run away from them, or straight to Sussex, remains to be seen.'

~•~•~•~

The afternoon of the second day: Stephen’s walk had taken him far into the countryside. He had thus far avoided villages, eating only the bread and cheese he had brought from London, drinking from streams and horse troughs. Near the hamlet of Liss, the westering sun illuminated the mellow red brick of St Mary’s; in the quiet, overgrown graveyard he knelt by a leaning stone, was still; then, removing the chain, he kissed the crucifix, lifted an edge of sod, and placed it on the warm dirt; it glinted in the light of the sinking sun as he replaced the sod over it. He walked on, and a while later, the sky in the southeast showing a hint of pearly light, he stepped away from the footpath, into the shadows of a thicket of chestnut, oak and alder.

~•~•~•~

The sky was just beginning to pale towards dawn when Jack emerged from the tower door, accompanied by Diana, disheveled and sleepy, impatient for him to go.

'Will you not come back with me? We could have the whole day ...'

'Aubrey, you must go. I cannot possibly be ready to ride in less than an hour, and you may not stay – it will be light soon.' She yawned. 'If you want to ride, come back in the afternoon.'

He kissed her, and went to the elms. Before the light from the door was cut off, he saw the cob, stamping nervously, in a lather. 'Why, what has troubled you, old fellow? This will never do.'

~•~•~•~

As the afternoon was fading towards night, they rode slowly back down the slope of Polcary Down. At the edge of the wood, Diana bade him return to Melbury; she did not want his company tonight. Her mare tossed her head and rolled her eyes, perhaps catching Diana's mood; but Jack, mindful of his horse's behaviour that morning – his alarm persisting until they were out on the open down – insisted on riding back to Mapes with her.

She was not to be moved from her determination that he should go, and so they parted at her door. 

'I may come tomorrow night?' he asked. 

'Perhaps. Not before midnight. If my light is on and the door unlocked, you may come up.'

Less than perfectly satisfied with this, Jack turned the cob's head for home. The horse had been a bit nervous as they approached the tower, but now he became jumpy, sidling on his toes, rolling his eyes, sweating. After a few minutes of this, Jack halted him, dismounted, and looked into his face, murmuring reassurance. He stepped to the edge of the path to piss, part of his mind still resentfully upon his dismissal; turning back, he beheld what could only be a large dog – surely wolves were extinct? - not twenty yards away, standing in shadow at the edge of the path, dark, unmoving, gazing at them. Jack drew a pistol from his saddlebag, and remounted.

~•~•~•~

' .. I ran. Whatever my intentions may have been – and I do not pretend to know with certainty what they were, so strange and wayward is my heart – I ran, hunting for my sustenance with perhaps heightened savagery; but I could not outrun my love for both of them. I fear I must have it out with Jack, face him as a man.

‘I returned to London, and a week later back here to Melbury; but nothing has changed. I play the dog, oh the irony, enduring neglect and worse for the sake of scraps from the lavish table they share.’ 

‘Killick,’ he said, with the veiled dangerous look of a man interrupted at secret work, ‘what have you to say to me?’ You are confused, disturbed in your mind. You have been drinking.’  
Killick stepped closer, and leaning on Stephen’s chair he whispered. ‘There’s some ugly articles below, sir, asking for the Captain. Bums. Sheriff’s officers.’

~•~•~•~

‘I cannot tell you what a relief it is,’ said Jack, bending to see whether the _Amethyst_ ’s forestaysail were drawing, ‘to be at sea. It is so clear and simple. I do not mean just escaping from the bums; I mean all the complications of life on shore. I do not think I am well suited to the land.’

~•~•~•~

• Between Desolation Island and The Fortune of War.

Over a meagre dinner in the _Leopard_ 's cabin, en route to Port Jackson, Stephen asked, 'Jack, how many full moons have we had since leaving Plymouth?' 

'Why, it has been ten months, ten _lunar _months.'__

__'Yes, but how many moons? I haven't noticed the full moon in all her glory lately - could it be that, if we are sailing back and forth on the very bottom of the world, we have missed some of them?'_ _

__There was a brief, stunned silence, as Jack stared at this prodigy of ignorance. 'No, brother, we get all the full moons wherever we are. Here, let me show you,' and he proceeded to illustrate her motions with the decanter representing the earth, a plate wiped clean the sun, and a wine glass the moon._ _

__Later that night, Stephen wrote, 'During the epidemic, I hardly noticed that I was not taking my usual dose; indeed, I was often unaware of one day's end and another's beginning, and when it was over I had none left. Though I procured a new supply in Recife, I scarcely thought of it in the ensuing weeks, with all the wounded in the long chase by the _Waakzamheit_ , and then the never-ending emergency of the ship trying to sink under us; but on Desolation Island I began to realise how long it had been since I last changed, and to wonder why. _ _

__'I have long thought that laudanum, suppressing the passions as it does, was the primary reason for so few transformations, but now this belief cannot be sustained, unless there are multiple factors at work. Perhaps my earlier hypothesis that it had to do with aging might not be altogether mistaken; or perhaps there are a multitude of factors; the sequence of disasters itself may have served to prevent a change._ _

__'It had occurred to me that, tied to the phases of the moon as it is, the pattern may have been interrupted by our being on the other side of the world, both in respect of our _latitude_ and our _longitude_ ; but Jack assures me that she sails just the same above every part of the earth, no matter how remote. I am no wiser, though delighted to hear that the moon, the shining beauty of the world so she is, is with us still. It was good to see his amazement, the smile that would keep appearing; he rejoices so in my ignorance.' _ _

____

~•~•~•~

~•~•~•~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are the property of the much-regretted Patrick O’Brian and his heirs, and are borrowed with profound respect and love.
> 
> Beta: the awesome alltoseek
> 
> NOTES:  
> Specific passages, as well as the general story arc, were adapted, abbreviated and/or paraphrased from Aubreyad canon, with sincere apologies to the spirit of Patrick O’Brian. These include:  
> In chapter 2: The beginning, ending with ‘I have none,’ is from Post Captain, ch. 3, as are both Killick giving the bum alarm and the brief scene on the _Amethyst_.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> POB’s lovely phrase ‘Kind night that covers me’ presumably refers to William Ernest Henley’s _Invictus_ (1875), one part of which reads: “Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, For my unconquerable soul.” It’s a famous poem, rather odd, and I am baffled as to why POB quoted it here, unless it was an unconscious borrowing.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> The Irish words: _faoladh_ (fuh-EH-la), ‘werewolf’ and _fear_ (faar), ‘gentleman’ (or ‘master’). 


	3. Valletta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Stephen is lost, but Jack is not alone.
> 
> Spoiler alert: Spoilers for several books, especially for The Far Side of the World, but also including Post Captain, Desolation Island, Treason’s Harbour, and Reverse of the Medal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: the incomparable alltoseek  
> Thanks also to JessamyGriffin for advice and support.

• Treason’s Harbour

Every day Malta came a hundred or a hundred and fifty miles nearer, and every day after the first two or three Captain Aubrey made an attempt at his official letter.

‘Listen to this, Stephen, will you?’ he said, when they were in longitude 19°45′ East. ‘ “Sir, I have the honour to acquaint you that pursuant to your orders of the third ultimo I proceeded to Tina with the party under my command and from thence to Suez with a Turkish escort, where I embarked in HEI Company’s sloop _Niobe_ and, having eventually taken the Turkish contingent aboard, proceeded in adverse weather to the Mubara channel … where I made a complete cock of it.” Now the point is, how can I best say that without looking too much of a fool?’

~•~•~•~

When he was not listening to the latest version of Jack’s dispatch, Stephen was usually to be found sorting through what was left of the vast collections he and Martin had made, all in vain, alas, and writing up his notes. He returned to his personal diary, as well.

‘It is now certain that I shall have to leave Jack for some days, once we return to Valletta; it is wretched timing, as I should like to make my reports to Wray or Sir Hildebrand face-to-face, gauging their reception as I go; but unless they are in the way the moment we drop anchor, I shall have to leave the written reports. 

‘I might have foreseen this, had I not been lulled to complacency by the increasing rarity of this event. I am still, alas, unsure of what the determinants may be; but I believe hurry of spirits must play some part. There are many possible factors to consider: Laura Fielding – opportunity, temptation - my Halley’s diving-bell, perhaps, along with my attempt to abandon tobacco, the loss of yet another collection, or even the extreme climate. 

‘I have rarely felt my nature to be such an inconvenience. Perhaps the last few years, with no more than two or three changes the twelvemonth, have put all my instincts to sleep; I anticipate no pleasure from the impending transformation. Perhaps I will be able to put the time to good use, however; I know many of the French agents in Valletta, and it will be surprising if I cannot scent-track at least some of these to their masters, perhaps clarifying the whole structure of the French intelligence community on Malta.’

A while later, Stephen said, ‘Will you listen now, Jack? You are aware that I am much concerned about the leaks, the constant passing of information to the French in the Mediterranean, in Malta particularly. There is much in Hairabedian's papers that I cannot read, but what I can tends to reinforce fragmentary information from other sources; I may be closing in on the guilty parties. When we reach Valletta I will have a great deal to do, especially if Wray and the Governor are still off the island, as they were when we left for the Red Sea. In the meantime I have other pressing matters, and may be obliged to consult friends in Mosta, in the interior, and a woefully inconvenient time it is, too; I might be three days or even more about this task.’ 

‘Should you like to have Bonden, Stephen, and an able seaman or two?’

‘Why, no, Jack, I thank you kindly; but this is for me to do; never worry, now.’

~•~•~•~

Stephen parted from him at Searle's in the early afternoon. He called first at the acting Second Secretary's quarters in the palace; he was told that Wray had not yet returned from Sicily, but was expected any day now. He made his way to the hospital, to see his patients, where he found himself unable to decline an invitation to assist with a surgery, just on hand, a resection of a putrefying wound. It was thus late in the afternoon when he crossed the King’s Garden Street, stopping briefly to pray before a tablet in the shaded wall of St Simon’s; pulling the crucifix from around his neck, he kissed it, and, bending down, quickly buried it under a scraping of dirt and grass. He hurried on to Laura Fielding's house, hoping to assure himself of her safety and to find out what Lesueur and his people had been doing with her while he was away in the Red Sea.

In the courtyard next to her house, there was a broad, half-full cistern with a long-handled scoop lying on the rim. Leaning over the edge to fill it, he had a vertiginous moment; he had miscalculated: the sun was setting, and behind him the full moon was rising.

~•~•~•~

Jack made the necessary calls at the dockyard, pleased to see progress at last in _Surprise_ 's refit; he spent some hours arranging for stores enough for her Adriatic mission, and dined with Captain Pullings at Searle's. As the sun was setting he made his way to Laura Fielding's house, having sent her a note earlier. As Stephen was away it would do no harm to resume his Italian lessons, and he meant to pass his friend's best compliments on to her.

~•~•~•~

He hurried down the long stone passage. There was no answer to his knock, and presently Jack took notice of a sound, a desperate unearthly wail, fairly regular.  
‘It is scarcely human,’ he said, cocking his ear. It was coming from a broad, deep cistern sunk in the corner of the inner courtyard. ‘God help us,’ said Jack, running towards it. He leant over the edge. In the dark water some four or five feet below, a dim hairy form was swimming, straining up its head and uttering a hoarse wow wow wow: the wretched dog, betrayed by some unknown blunder, had fallen in. He had been in the water a great while, and all round the walls there were the bloody marks of his paws where he had tried to scrabble up. He looked quite mad with terror and despair. ‘If he is out of his wits he will have my hand off, maybe,’ said Jack. ‘I must get hold of his scruff: a damned long lean.’ He took off his coat and sword and reached down, far down, into the dimness and the howling that filled the air. His hand just touched the water: he called out, ‘Hey there, give us your scruff: bear a hand now, you infernal bugger.’

The familiar naval sounds, uttered very loud and echoing in the cistern, pierced through the dog’s distress. He swam over: Jack’s hand brushed the hairy head, whipped down to the scruff and took what grip it could. ‘Hold fast,’ he said, and with his left hand gripping the cistern-rim and his right the creature’s scruff, he heaved. He had the dog half way out of the water – a very great weight with such a poor grip, but just possible – when the edge of the cistern gave way and he fell bodily in. Two thoughts flashed into his plunging mind: ‘There go my breeches’ and ‘I must keep clear of his jaws’, and then he was standing on the bottom of the cistern with the water up to his chest and the dog round his neck, its forelegs gripping him in an almost human embrace and its strangled breath in his ear. Jack turned the dog about, grasped his middle, and crying ‘Away aloft’ thrust him up towards the rim. He got his paws on to it, then his chin; Jack gave his rump one last powerful heave and he was gone: the mouth of the cistern overhead was empty, but for the pale sky and three stars.

Jack climbed out with some difficulty and sat, dripping and panting, upon the unbroken side of the rim. The dog – in the better light, Jack thought it might be a wolf cross, rough black coat, keen face, alert ears – lay not far away, his panting rapidly subsiding; he licked briefly at his bloody paws, then sat up, looking steadily at him.

‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘can you account for yourself? How came you to be in the cistern, pray?’

The creature's solemn face relaxed into an open mouthed pant, strangely like a laugh. 

Jack contemplated him, thinking, 'I shall have to shift my clothes – infernal nuisance.' He took a notebook from his pocket – his dry coat pocket – tore out a page and scribbled a note to Laura, delivering Stephen's best compliments and his own, explaining the broken cistern rim, hoping her dog's paws were not too badly hurt, and suggesting resumption of their Italian lessons. 

As he turned into the outer courtyard, he caught motion in the corner of his eye – the animal was padding quietly after him. 'I shall have to close the outer door,' he thought; but it slipped out before him and was lost in the shadows of the street.

Back at Searle's, he made a solitary supper and wrote a few pages to Sophie before sleeping, the cool night air welcome, the unnaturally still bed much less so. 

In the morning he was surprised to see the strange dog as he left the inn. It was lying at its ease in the shade, but rose to meet him, looking into his face with interest, but coming no closer than five yards or so. Jack detected something in its mien that suggested it had been waiting for him, and this supposition was borne out as it followed him towards the dockyard. In the morning light he saw that this was perhaps a tame wolf, or at least three-quarters wolf, unusual in Malta; rather taller than otherwise, very thin, with strange fierce eyes. Watching him as he followed some bird with keen attention, Jack wondered about the eyes; they turned suddenly and met his, and Jack felt the hairs rise on his neck and arms. 

In the early afternoon he encountered Laura before St Rocco’s. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Fielding,’ he cried. 'I hope I see you well – your dog, too, I trust he is recovered? He seemed prime when I saw him this morning. It was a lucky stroke I came along when I did - I don't see how the poor fellow could have lasted much longer.' His cheerful flow faltered as he saw her confusion, a touch of amusement. 'But, Captain Aubrey, I have not a dog. I have not had a dog since my beloved Ponto died, two years ago. I have never seen this dog before,’ she added, nodding towards a doorway behind him, ‘it is a mystery how it came to be in my courtyard.' Jack turned, and indeed there was the wolf, lying upon the shaded step.

~•~•~•~

The wolf was not a nuisance; he was not always visible, but often enough somewhere nearby, if Jack thought to look. He spoke to it from time to time, a surprisingly rewarding exercise, as the animal seemed to listen to him with grave attention. On the second day, he said, 'You seem to have attached yourself to me. Stephen will be charmed – I shall tell him you have been enthralled by my saintliness.' The wolf laughed, a silent, open-jawed pant.

Although Jack was concerned about Stephen's absence, he knew his friend's capabilities and he was not yet really troubled. This changed however. After the third day, with no sign of nor word from the doctor, he became increasingly anxious. He hesitated to make a fuss, as it was all too likely that Stephen was about his secret, confidential business – his secret, confidential, dangerous business. 

With the release of _Surprise_ from the dockyard, preparing her for another mission felt like a reprieve. But as the days passed and nobody knew anything, Jack's anxiety became alarm, then anguish. 

Of course the Surprises understood this – in addition to the ordered, incessant searches, several of them spent some or all of their liberty time looking for him on their own initiative. 'All too likely he slipped off a dock,' said some. 'Lost on the hillside, looking for birds' nests,' said others. 'Too busy with his lady love to remember us,' said still others, with diminishing hope. 

Wherever they gathered – outside their grim Captain's range, with his frightful calm, his closed and forbidding face – they spoke of the Doctor, reviewing and refining the stories, now so likely free of the necessity of adhering to fact or even probability. But there was little relish in the exercise. The element of doubt, and the real regard in which he had been held, dampened their spirits.

As for Jack, this time was a nightmare of growing fear and dawning loss, a time his shocked mind had trouble making sense of as the days went on. When had he last checked at the cathedral? Did the party sent to scour the southern shoreline go before the last tide or was it two days ago? For several days, he woke each morning not knowing what felt so profoundly wrong, and discovered the wretched truth anew. He spoke little, delegated everything he could, and returned to the ship only to snatch a bite to eat and to sleep – restless, unhappy sleep. 

He called on Laura Fielding, to tell her his work precluded more Italian lessons for the time being, hoping she might have had word from Stephen; but she at once asked him where Dr Maturin might be and why he had deserted her. Jack’s distress was evident; sensing she had struck the wrong note somehow, she chattered on; inviting him to a musical evening the following week, if he should be at leisure, and telling him about her several sightings of the strange creature he had brought out of her cistern: once or twice wandering around before the palace, once snuffling and digging near the corner of the monastery of St. Simon, running about, quite agitated, poor thing; two or three times she had glimpsed him trotting purposefully towards the waterfront. 

Jack was accustomed, horribly enough, to losing friends, most often suddenly; but Stephen was more to him than a mere friend: a brother, one whose life was inextricably bound up with his own, so many shared years, experiences, music. He searched, tried everything he could imagine, and avoided as best he might thinking about a future without his friend. He had long abandoned discretion, and approached the port Admiral, the Governor, even, diffidently, Wray – who surprised him by expressing the greatest concern, offering the services of his office, if it might be of any use. In spite of knowing that Stephen did not fully trust Wray, Jack considered asking him if any of his agents knew anything; but he could not bring himself to so expose his friend, who he still hoped might be detained about his business, whose exposure might bring him to the ruin Jack feared he had already met. 

In the early days, the wolf from Laura's cistern tried to follow him, but he had no time or attention to spare for it. The animal limped after him, and though often enough was not to be seen, when Jack came out of a building, or returned to shore after a night aboard, he would see him lying quietly in a shaded corner, licking his poor nailless paws or sleeping, head on his flank, turned to the wind. He never failed to rise when he saw Jack, alert and perhaps a bit wary, but following if he turned away. The wolf never approached him closely, but would meet his eye when he spoke; Jack sometimes had the strongest sense of being understood, even regarded with compassion. He felt sorry for it, when he had time to think – a creature as lost as he felt, expecting kindness from him, perhaps, kindness he believed was not to be found in the wreckage of his heart. 

He began sharing his food with his silent companion. Sitting on the rim of a lion-headed fountain in the Strada Reale one day, eating a sandwich for which he had little appetite – Killick had taken to filling his pockets with food, perfunctorily grumbling 'Never get the grease out, God help us' - he offered half of it to the creature, saying 'Come on then, you're far too skinny, and I am … portly … ' but he was unable to go on. The wolf regarded him steadily, then rose, walked slowly up to him, and took the sandwich, delicately, between his gleaming and quite surprisingly large fangs, then settled close by and consumed it with evident relish. Jack watched him for a time, then regarded the fountain; at its base, seashells, flowers, the sun; _Omnibus idem_. 'All the same', he said, softly. 'No it ain't.'

On the morning _Surprise_ left her moorings for the victualling wharf, Jack stayed aboard. In the afternoon, pacing the quarterdeck and trying to think about his private stores, yet to be purchased, he was astonished to see the wolf dash onto the wharf, panting, near exhaustion. He leapt onto the gangplank with no hesitation at all, and promptly skidded off the farther edge and into the harbour. Jack watched him thrashing there in the water for a few moments, then, with a sigh, he removed his coat, kicked off his boots and dove in after him. It was easier than he expected to grasp the hairy scruff this second time. Calling for a line, he fashioned a rude harness and the creature was ignominiously hauled onto the deck, where the crewmen, dubious, kept a sharp eye on him, and a ready hand on the hoist. But he did no more than shake himself and then stood still, watching Jack scale the dock ladder and cross to the deck. 

There he found the marine officer, musket in hand, sizing up the wolf. 'By God, Captain,’ he said, laughing, ‘I have never seen anyone rescue a wolf from drowning before.'

'Is he a full wolf, d'ye think?' asked Jack, untying the harness. 

'Oh, yes, though I have never seen one with blue-grey eyes before.'

'Well, he is tame for all that and I rather think he is mine; pray do not shoot him.'

~•~•~•~

After this, when Jack returned to the shore, the wolf made it clear he was anxious not to be left behind. _Surprise_ returned to her moorings in the fairway, and Jack to his searching; the day he - Jack - growled at the bargemen, 'Make room there' – and to the wolf, 'Come along then' – was the beginning of his acceptance that he would be, henceforth, alone.

The wolf moved into the cabin. Everyone was aware of him, of course, some alarmed; but he displayed unexceptionable manners, was fastidious, and almost secretive, about eating and eliminating, was careful to stay out of everyone’s way, was reserved and dignified; alarm faded into custom. 

A packet came in, bearing a bundle of letters from Sophie, as usual undated. Jack detected a reserve in some of the early ones – he knew her exceedingly well, and was worried that something had gone amiss at home – but by what he determined to be the third letter the cause was revealed. The rumours had been confirmed, and Sophie was indignant and in some way ashamed that Diana had once again fled under the protection of a man. She begged Jack to ‘give her dear, dear love to Stephen, but do not mention this to him, dearest Jack. Perhaps she may return and all will yet be well.’ 

Jack’s reply proved to be one of the most difficult letters he had ever written. He was unable not to tell her of Stephen's disappearance – vanishing from Malta, no trace to be found – declared how he would lecture him, when he returned, for being so late and for worrying his friends so; but he could scarcely hope Sophie would be at all reassured. 

Stephen's letters, arriving on the same packet, he locked in his friend's desk, as usual; those in Diana's bold hand a sore temptation, to read or perhaps to destroy unread; but his post remained sacred, a border Jack was unwilling to cross. 

The last two days before they sailed for Zambra, Jack made his numerous official calls with the utmost dispatch, and spent more hours combing Valletta, as if he might have overlooked some corner; but nothing did he find. He bespoke additional stores, particularly livestock, having another mouth to feed. 

In the evening of the first of these days he repaired on board just ahead of the jolly-boat bringing their newly-assigned surgeon and political advisor aboard. Dr Clement proved to be a soft-spoken middle-aged man, somewhat overawed to be assigned to a ship accustomed to the renowned Dr Maturin. Jack could not pretend to be happy about it, but he was able to do the civil, and bade Dr Clement dine with him, Mowett, Maitland and Calamy on the following day. 

At that dinner, which in the ironbound naval custom managed to move from constrained civility to a near approach to genuine good will in a matter of two or three courses, the new surgeon enquired about the wolf, who was lying relaxed but attentive against the bulwark beyond Jack's chair. 'That is a splendid beast,' said he, 'a wolf, I make no doubt? Wherever did you find him?' 

'In a cistern,' said Jack, and let his officers tell the story, now somehow common knowledge. No doubt Killick, who had angrily demanded to know how his clothes had come to be in such a state that day, had something to do with it. They went on to speak of the wolf's sagacity and manners, speculating on who had brought him to Malta, clearly tame as he was. Jack wondered how much of this was genuine pride in such an addition to their crew, and how much an attempt to cheer him. 

'Has he a name?’ enquired the surgeon. The officers looked at Jack. 

'Why,' said Jack, 'I believe I shall call him Ulysses. He is clever enough, and certainly no seaman.' 

'No indeed,' laughed Maitland, somewhat disguised in wine, 'falling overboard, like -' Mowett and Calamy both looked down. 

'And lost, of course – all at sea,' continued Jack, determined. 'Mr Maitland, a glass of wine with you,' nodding composedly at the appalled midshipman. 

The ship slipped her moorings and sailed for Zambra, and the crew resumed their accustomed routines, clearing for action every evening, often lighting the skies with gunfire. The carpenter's mates were initially unwilling to break down the captain's cabins, with their silent, slightly uncanny occupant. Jack, called aft, led the wolf down to the orlop that first time, admonishing him to stay there: 'This is your action-station, sir: you must learn to come here directly, when the drum sounds.' It was not until after the action at Zambra that it occurred to him to wonder at the wolf's compliance with this order. On reflection, he attributed it to a distaste for the noise and bustle on deck, together with the lesser amplitude of the ship's motion below. 

Early in the voyage, the wolf followed Jack to the sick-berth, and displayed interest, perhaps even concern, as he looked closely at the inpatients. The big Munsterman, Padeen Colman, formerly Dr Maturin’s servant, was now acting as a gunroom servant and occasional sickberth attendant, assisting the loblolly boy, fetching, carrying, restraining. The first time he came upon the wolf, sitting on a chest and watching the new surgeon with narrowed eyes, he was clearly very frightened. He went pale, crossed himself, staring wide-eyed; even when it became obvious the creature was perfectly tame, he regarded it with the greatest respect; he was heard to speak to the wolf, in stammering Irish, addressing him as what sounded to Jack like ‘Fuayla’' and, later, 'Faar'. The latter word Jack recognised as one Colman had used when speaking with Stephen, evidently a term of respect or submission. 

Jack developed the habit of talking to the wolf, and came to prize the rare grin and pant of approval. The wolf always listened intently, appeared to attend with fascination to Jack's music, when he eventually resumed playing – so painful now – and relished toasted cheese as much as Jack did.

~•~•~•~

~•~•~•~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are the property of the much-regretted Patrick O’Brian and his heirs, and are borrowed with profound respect and love.
> 
> Beta: the awesome alltoseek
> 
> NOTES:  
> Specific passages, as well as the general story arc, were adapted, abbreviated and/or paraphrased from Aubreyad canon, with sincere apologies to the spirit of Patrick O’Brian. These include:  
> In chapter 3: The beginning paragraph is from Treason’s Harbour, ch. 7; the rescue from the cistern is from ch. 1 of the same book.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> The Irish words: _faoladh_ (fuh-EH-la), ‘werewolf’ and _fear_ (faar), ‘gentleman’ (or ‘master’).
> 
> ~•~•~•~


	4. The Far Side of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen is lost, but Jack is not alone.
> 
> Spoiler alert: Spoilers for several books, especially for The Far Side of the World, but also including Post Captain, Desolation Island, Treason’s Harbour, and Reverse of the Medal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: the incomparable alltoseek  
> Thanks also to JessamyGriffin for advice and support.

The men became accustomed to a wolf in their midst, and were kind, even becoming slightly solicitous for him. He had a tendency to stumble with a sudden pitch or roll, no doubt due to his missing claws; he could climb the ladders well enough, but it was alarming to watch him descend one – hesitation, one or two steps down and a leap. Bonden was seen to help him down ladders, but few others had the temerity. 

In time, Ulysses became a fixture in the orlop during action or weather, as well as in the sick berth. His quiet, steady presence was reassuring to the men; the chaplain Martin, who now assisted Dr Clement, believed the patients were somehow reluctant to shriek and carry on in the time-honoured manner in front of such an evidently dignified and stoic creature. Over time, the sick-berth attendants came to take note of his behaviour as an indication of a patient's condition: particular attention to a wound, for instance, nearly always heralded a serious infection, and this enabled the doctor to save more than one limb at risk. Dr Clement also observed that while the wolf often lay for a while near an occupied cot, in full view of its occupant, resting or perhaps listening to his tale of woe, sometimes he would lie behind a cot, out of sight, apparently sleeping - and the occupants of those beds usually died. 

At all other times he was either in attendance on Jack or out of sight in the great cabin, where he kept Jack company in the evenings and guarded his sleep. Killick accepted his presence with a few perfunctory grumbles about ‘all them hairs, never get them out of the broadcloth’, but was seen to drop a surprising amount of Jack’s breakfast behind his chair.

~•~•~•~

• The Far Side of the World: Cape Horn

The sun sank behind a bank of purple cloud. The breeze entirely died. Between the changing from one wind to another the Cape Horn current seized the ship and carried her fast eastwards; and at the beginning of the graveyard watch the south-west wind came in with a shriek.  
The shriek rarely lessened in the days and weeks that followed.

Rounding the Cape was as difficult as Jack had ever known it, and at times even his bright confidence was dimmed; not a word of discouragement did he utter, however, keeping the deck watch after watch, sleeping for a stunned few hours and then resuming the enormous effort of fighting wind and wave for every possible westward inch. 

There were injuries a-plenty, but no deaths until in the midst of a ferocious, sleeting storm the maintopsail split, and in the terrible struggle to clear it a man fell from the lee yardarm, vanishing instantly; two more sails broke free, and it was only by the utmost effort of the most able men aboard that they were eventually able to lower the yards, make all fast and begin to repair the damaged rigging.

Jack came down into the sick-bay when the ship was reasonably snug. ‘How is Jenkins?’ he asked.  
‘I doubt he can live,’ said Clement. ‘The whole rib-cage is … And Rogers will probably lose his arm. 

A black figure appeared at Jack's elbow, nuzzling attentively at his hand. What is that?’ said Clement, pointing to Jack’s hand, wrapped in a handkerchief.

‘It is only some nails torn out. I did not notice it at the time.’

~•~•~•~

• The Far Side of the World: en route to the Marquesas

Once again, and with surprising speed, the ship settled down to a perfectly regular, self-sufficing existence; very soon it became the natural way of life once more, and the Surprises looked back to the remote and bitterly cold days far south of the Horn as to another world.

Jack filled the evenings with the music he had been obliged to forego in more demanding waters.  
Night after night he played there in the great cabin with the stern-windows open and the ship’s wake flowing away and away in the darkness. 

Few things gave him more joy; he did not think consciously of his lost friend, but his music was so essentially the product of their shared history, formed of many nights, years of nights, spent improvising, working out variations on a theme, handing them to and fro, conversing with violin and ’cello, it could not but give him a sense of peace, a fundamental serenity, independent of the cares of the present. 

But on the evening the hands had been turned up to sing and dance on the forecastle and were making much more noise than usual, he found it impossible to play, or to concentrate on his serial letter to Sophie. 

‘I am glad I cancelled the youngsters’ lesson,’ said Jack, looking through the open skylight. ‘There is scarcely a star to be seen. Jupiter is no more than a blur, and I do not suppose that even he will last another five minutes.’ 

Leaving the cabin, he made his way forward, stood irresolutely at the break of the quarterdeck, and listened to the familiar songs for a while; when the raucous _Away my boys, away my boys, ’tis time for us to go _began, Jack retreated to the cabin.__

__Opening the door, he beheld a black haunch and tail, the rest invisible as the wolf leaned far out of the open stern-window, watching the wake. Striding across the cabin, calling angrily, 'Come away at once, sir,' he reached for the window; startled, the wolf turned, stumbled, and teetered precariously; Jack grasped him by the tail and pulled him, all unbalanced, onto the stern locker. It did not occur to Jack immediately that it was perhaps a foolhardy thing to do, to pull a wolf’s tail; ‘But however,’ he said to himself, ‘I have all my fingers intact, I believe, and all’s well at both ends.’_ _

__He pulled the windows to, one after another, then, more moderately: 'You could fall out, you know, and then where would you be? Back in the cistern with no walls and no random seaman with long arms about, that's where… Are you ready for some toasted cheese? It's too noisy for music tonight, I think.'_ _

____

~•~•~•~

Killick closed the cabin door behind himself, having left a fresh decanter and the toasted cheese. Winking at the Marine sentry he pulled a three-quarters empty decanter from under his jacket and tipped it to his mouth. ‘Good port, that, Captain knows what’s what with wines.’ He proffered the decanter to the sentry with a wink.

‘Might know wines, but he’s losing his marbles, mate. Hear him talking to that wolf like it’s a Christian?’

‘You keep a civil tongue in your head, cully. You know what’s good for you, you’ll not repeat that,’ said Killick, snatching the decanter back and stalking away.

~•~•~•~

• The Far Side of the World: on Sodbury’s island.

When Bonden tripped over the bosun’s cat and pitched into the hold, striking his head and lapsing into an apparent coma, Dr Clement reluctantly advised Captain Aubrey that he would have to trepan – something he confessed he had never done before. ‘There is an admirable instrument here, and Mr Martin tells me he has seen Dr Maturin perform the procedure, so together we are willing to try. It is risky, but if we are not to sit by and watch him slip away, we must undertake it. However, it is essential that we have good light and above all, steady ground – it is an exceedingly delicate procedure, and the least false move could mean the patient’s death.’ 

Easy enough to ask for, but there was no charted land within reach of a few days’ sailing, and a great storm was brewing, a three-days’ storm; and Bonden fell deeper into coma. On the second day, land was spotted to the northwest, an uncharted island; there they discovered _Norfolk_ , their long-sought prey, wrecked upon the wicked reef that guarded the lagoon and sunk. A great many of the ship’s people had survived the wreck, including their captain, who made a feeble attempt to convince Jack that peace had been declared and the two ships’ companies were no longer enemies. Jack was not taken in, however, being only nominally on land, and that land being pretty damp - tolerably humid. 

Jack and a few officers and men had come ashore in the launch, along with the doctor, his assistant and their patient. A hospital pavilion was run up; by evening, Dr Clement was preparing himself to open Bonden’s head. He was much encouraged by the confidence of the unfortunately named Dr Butcher, _Norfolk_ ’s surgeon, who offered to assist, being familiar with the procedure. 

‘I always fortify myself before operating’ said he, opening his snuff-box. He took so vast a pinch that a good deal fell down his shirt-front, some of it falling on the head of the wolf, lying beside the cot and watching the surgeons with keen and as it were disapproving attention. 

The wolf sneezed, a hearty blast, mucus and snuff liberally spattering the insensible patient, who turned his head, frowned, muttered ‘Row dry, there,’ and opened his eyes, wincing at the lantern’s light.

~•~•~•~

In the night a great storm arose and the ship perforce bore away westward, perhaps onto the hundred mile long chain of reefs, which Jack saw when, the rain moderating, he and Ulysses climbed to the top of the island. He had brought the wolf to shore intending merely to give him a run on dry land, which he always seemed to relish greatly, but now Jack was grateful for the company, the acute senses that told him when the Norfolk’s people were approaching, and, as the days wore on, the gifts of game.

The days wore on: no sign of the ship. The Surprises ashore set up a scanty economy, shelters other than the launch under which they had passed the first days, stores gathered from the interior of the island, and what they could fish from the shore; no salvage from _Norfolk_ , her remains guarded by scores of ugly, pale, voracious sharks. Bonden continued to recuperate, venturing on short walks, often accompanied by the wolf, upon whom he leaned to traverse uneven ground. 

Towards the end of the week the rain diminished; crossing the upper part of the stream became easier and more men from either side came into contact with one another. This led to the first trouble. The Norfolks outnumbered the Surprises by four to one, every day increased their confidence and spirits, and the isolated fights and scuffles threatened to develop into general violence.

Jack blamed himself extremely. He should have stayed in his ship: if he had felt absolutely obliged to go ashore, he should in the very first place have attended to the tide, and in the second place he should certainly have brought a party of Marines; even perhaps the launch’s carronade. As it was, all the weapons the Surprises possessed were his sword, Blakeney’s dirk and pocket-pistol, and the boat-hook; the seamen all had their knives, of course, but then so did most of the Norfolks. But he had Ulysses, a powerful check upon the Norfolks' behaviour; no sailor accompanied by the wolf had yet been molested in any way. 

As the weeks passed, and _Surprise_ ’s return or even survival became less likely, hostility between the two sides grew. Jack, foreseeing the probable warfare that would ensue, determined to lengthen the launch to accommodate all the Surprises, stock her with enough water and food, and make for Huahiva; it was fortunate that the carpenter and his mates had been brought ashore to build the hospital hut. To him Jack said, 'I intend to lengthen the launch to take her to Huahiva. It must be done fairly soon, or we shall have no launch left to lengthen; ill-feeling is growing stronger and when the island is stripped bare of food it will obviously grow stronger still. Every day _Surprise_ does not appear makes them bolder.

‘But before we lengthen the boat we must be armed: what can you turn into hangers or boarding-pikes without jeopardizing your work?’  
‘Lord love you, sir,’ – laughing very cheerfully – ‘I could arm the hosts of Midian, if so desired. I tossed a whole keg of ten-inch spikes into the boat. And your ten-inch spike gives a very serviceable pike.’ 

The work proceeded, interrupted by general harassment and, once, by outright theft of the carpenter’s tools by a bold group of Norfolks. Jack, unarmed but accompanied by the lowering wolf, was able to retrieve the tools, but it was clear the situation was deteriorating rapidly. Anything more of this kind would lead to open bloody battle, and although with his pikemen and axes he could probably sustain it, continual open violence would delay the launching of the boat intolerably and even perhaps make it impossible. 

Jack drove the crew very hard during the following week. It was not only a matter of the hostility increasing daily, skirmishes in the threatening bloody warfare. Jack, climbing to the crest of the island, as he did often, always searching for a sign of _Surprise_ , had sighted a whaler approaching from the northwest, perhaps a week away, an American whaler, whose arrival must necessarily change the precarious balance of power wholly in the Norfolks’ favour, and make prisoners of him and his men, if not indeed corpses.

The work was near complete when the American whaler hove into sight, rounding the southern cape. It was the flash that lit the awaiting conflagration: the Norfolks attacked. 

A score of men, a tight, eager pack, were after Haines; he was headed off from the shelter of the trees, headed off from the launch, and hunted fast along the sea. They brought him down at the edge of the stream, disembowelled him and threw him into the water. The greater number swarmed round the boat, which the Surprises were desperately trying to push down to the hard sand and the sea. Some snatched away the slides, others flung her precious stores about or staved the water-casks with great stones in a mad destruction, and others, perfectly without fear of the pikes or anything else, tripped up the men who were shoving or threw whatever came to hand on the high-water-mark – seaweed, driftwood, lumps of coral – or even pushed in the other direction. Ulysses flew to Jack's side as he drew his sword, and uttering a fearsome growl flung himself upon the nearest Norfolk, tearing out his throat with astonishing ferocity, shocking men of both sides. He leapt upon another, and then another, destroying them with horrifying efficiency, until Jack called him away; the launch was hopelessly deep in dry sand. Once this was so, once escape was impossible, the attackers drew off, to line the sea and cheer their long-awaited whaler. Jack’s sword-arm was red to the elbow, and the wolf's muzzle and front were soaked, the fur drying in stiff points, when they retreated to the launch. All the Surprises were now inside the boat, which bristled with pikes, an impregnable stronghold for the time being. 

The whaler's pursuer came racing into sight round the southern cape, studdingsails aloft and alow on either side – a dead silence from the motionless Norfolks below – fired a full, prodigal broadside to leeward, lowered down a boat and began to reduce sail, cheering like a ship clean out of her mind with delight. 

‘She is the _Surprise_ ,’ said Jack, ‘The joyful _Surprise_.’

~•~•~•~

• The Reverse of the Medal: Bridgetown, Barbados

He was the spit, the counterpart, the image of Jack Aubrey with some twenty years and several stone taken off, done in shining ebony. It made no odds that the young man’s hair was a tight cap of black curls rather than Jack’s long yellow locks, nor that his nose had no Roman bridge; his whole essence, his person, his carriage was the same, and even the particular tilt of his head.

‘Good afternoon to you, sir,’ said the young man in a deep, somewhat tremulous voice as he held out a letter. ‘When I was in England Mrs Aubrey desired me to give you this, or to leave it in good hands were I gone before your ship came by.’

Jack looked keenly at the young man’s face – it was strangely familiar: surely he must have seen him before. He said, ‘It was exceedingly kind of you to bring me this letter.’

‘My name is Panda, sir, Samuel Panda, and my mother was Sally Mputa.’  
.  
‘God’s my life,’ said Jack. They looked at one another with a naked searching, eager on the one side, astonished on the other. There were few mirrors hanging in Jack’s part of the ship, but the ingenious piece of furniture that Stephen’s wife Diana had given him had a large one inside the lid. Jack opened it and they stood there side by side, each comparing, each silently, intently, looking for himself in the other.

‘I am astonished,’ said Jack at last. ‘I had no idea, no idea in the world.’ He sat down again. ‘I hope your mother is well?’

‘Very well indeed, sir, I thank you.’ Neither spoke until Jack said ‘God’s my life’ again. His youth coming so vividly to life took him wholly aback.

‘Well, Sam,’ said Jack, ‘you are very welcome, I am sure. And now you have found me, what can I do for you?’ 

‘You are very kind, sir,’ said Sam, ‘and truly benevolent; but I am not come to ask for anything at all, apart from your good word and the blessing.’

‘Of course that you have – bless you, Sam – but I should like something more substantial, to help you to live.’

‘It is the Mission sustains me.’

‘Sam, do not tell me you are a Papist,’ cried Jack.  
‘I am sorry to disappoint you, sir,’ said Sam, smiling, ‘but a Papist I am, and so much so that I hope in time to be a priest if ever I can have a dispensation. At present I am only in minor orders.’

‘Well,’ said Jack, recollecting himself, ‘I am sure I shall be able to say that one of my best friends is not only Catholic but black into the bargain – why, Sam, what’s amiss?’

The marine sentry had opened the cabin door partway, admitting Ulysses, and silently closed it again; this was routinely done several times every day, and had ceased to cause comment or even notice among the ship's company. For Jack's visitor, however, this entrance was wholly astonishing; he sat unmoving, showing considerable self-possession, as the wolf stood gazing at him. 

'Never worry, Sam. This is my companion, Ulysses. Black like you, and for all I know a Papist as well, ha ha ha.' The wolf met Jack's eye briefly, with his lupine laugh; looked attentively from one man to the other, and walked composedly up to Sam. 

Jack watched, enthralled, as Sam gazed into the pale, alien eyes, then reached out and placed his hand on the shaggy head. The wolf bowed his head; Sam said softly, 'Adiuro te, o lupo, protegatis et nisi ab clades patrem meum, dum tua vita durat, in nomine sanctae trinitatis, amen.' When Sam finished the wolf looked up at him and then gave his hand a brief lick. Sam smiled. 'Benedicat tibi, patruo.'

~•~•~•~

~•~•~•~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are the property of the much-regretted Patrick O’Brian and his heirs, and are borrowed with profound respect and love.
> 
> Beta: the awesome alltoseek
> 
> NOTES:  
> Specific passages, as well as the general story arc, were adapted, abbreviated and/or paraphrased from Aubreyad canon, with sincere apologies to the spirit of Patrick O’Brian. These include:  
> In chapter 4: The storm south of Cape Horn is from The Far Side of the World, ch. 5; wolf!Stephen trying to fall out of the stern window is from ch. 7; the episode on Old Sodbury is from chs. 9 and 10; parts of Jack’s meeting with Sam are from The Reverse of the Medal, ch.1.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> Sam's charge and blessing: _Adiuro te, o lupo, protegatis et nisi ab clades patrem meum, dum tua vita durat, in nomine sanctae trinitatis, amen.' … 'Benedicat tibi, patruo.'_
> 
> 'I adjure thee, o wolf, protect my father and save him from harm, while your life lasts, in the name of the sacred Trinity, Amen … Bless you, my father's brother.'
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> Wolf!Stephen’s behaviour in the sickbay: Of course, he’s looking askance at Dr Clement, hopefully amusingly. But it’s all reasonable – there are many precedents (postcedents?). Animals certainly recognize infection and no doubt can hear cardiac arrhythmias, borborygmi, subvocal groans and so on; and there are many inexplicable anecdotes of animals recognizing approaching death. I was hoping the death-watch would be at least a little bit creepy: what is he doing there, anyway? Praying? Waiting to eat them?
> 
> ~•~•~•~


	5. The Return of Ulysses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Stephen is lost, but Jack is not alone.
> 
> Spoiler alert: Spoilers for several books, especially for The Far Side of the World, but also including Post Captain, Desolation Island, Treason’s Harbour, and Reverse of the Medal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: the incomparable alltoseek  
> Thanks also to JessamyGriffin for advice and support.

At The Ship in Dover, Jack left Ulysses in the stable-yard behind the kitchen, patiently sitting as the enchanted little Margaret plucked at his fur, chattering happily.

Inside, he heard, to his dismay, that there were no places left on the London coach, nor were any chaises to be found in the town; but a black-coated gentleman seated next to him at dinner kindly offered him a place in the shay that he had bespoke. His claim was angrily disputed by two other men seated at the long table - a Quaker and a flash cove - but Jack’s neighbour put them down easily enough, and maintained a pleasant flow of conversation as they dined. 

Having drunk up his coffee, Jack walked into the yard, carrying his valise. He saw the Quaker and the flash cove grappling with his friend; he ran at top speed from the gateway, launched his sixteen stone in a flying leap upon the flash cove’s back, cracked his head upon the cobbles and sprang up to deal with the Quaker. Black Coat caught Jack’s arm and cried, ‘Let him go, let him go, if you please. Pray let him go. And this drunken ruffian too,’ – for the flash cove was getting to his knees. ‘I am infinitely obliged to you, sir, but pray let there be no scandal, no outcry, no noise.’ People from the Ship’s kitchen were at last beginning to congregate and stare.

‘No constable?’ asked Jack.

‘Oh no, no: let us have no public notice of any kind, I beg,’ said Black Coat very earnestly. ‘Pray let us get in. You are not hurt? You have your baggage. Let us get in at once.’

But the wolf had another idea, it seemed. He had sat by, unconcerned, as the brawl began, only rising when Jack launched himself into the fray. Now, however, he seemed belatedly alarmed: he could not be persuaded to jump into the chaise, nor would he suffer Jack to do so; he growled at Jack's friend in the black coat, and the latter was at once far less pressing for Jack to join him; in the end, Jack, to his great disappointment, was unable to get to London that night.

~•~•~•~

Arriving in London on the second day, he made his way to The Bunch of Grapes, to speak with Stephen’s landlady. Mrs Broad was only mildly concerned about the doctor's absence – she had complete faith in his ability to survive, accustomed as she was to his unaccountable disappearances and long absences.

Jack slowly climbed the familiar stairs to Stephen’s rooms. He had considered relinquishing them, but sitting before the cold grate, surrounded by his friend’s belongings, he found he was unable to do it. There could be no harm in delaying such a step; the rooms were paid for out of Stephen's ample bank account. He closed his eyes and smiled, imagining his friend returning from some perfectly reasonable secret mission, wholly unaware of the distress he had caused, and livid to find his home dismantled.

With a sigh, Jack returned to the present world; he acknowledged that he was probably behaving cowardly, clinging to a symbol of a hope he knew to be false. He conceived that his proper course would be to locate Diana and convey Stephen's property to her, but he was wholly unwilling to do so. He thought of her with bitter antipathy, imagining her insouciant smile, her merry laugh to find herself a wealthy widow; but no doubt he was unjust. He hoped so.

Opening Stephen’s desk, he dashed off a letter to Sophie - ‘I shall be sending you Killick, Bonden and perhaps Plaice with most of my dunnage by the slow coach, which leaves tomorrow: I shall have to stay a little longer.’ 

Considering the wolf’s worrying behaviour at Dover, Jack decided to leave him in Stephen’s rooms, while he made his official visits. Mrs Broad had no objections: 'Oh, many's the creature the Doctor's brought in here, sir. Hardly any of ‘em as civilised as your dog.'

~•~•~•~

At the Admiralty, he spoke to the First Lord’s confidential secretary, asking for an early appointment; he was told what he very well knew, that there were a few postings contemplated for him, but that nothing was settled, and he was advised to enjoy his leisure while he may. The First Lord would see him the following morning.

Jack asked for Andrew Wray, having determined that he owed it to his friend's estate, not to mention to justice, to call in the very substantial note he had found in Stephen’s papers – more accurately, marking a passage in Boethius. Mr Wray was not available. 

Enquiring next for Sir Joseph Blaine, he was asked to have a seat; presently the confidential secretary returned and Jack was shown into a back office. Sir Joseph rose to greet him, shaking his hand and leading him to a comfortable armchair near the low fire; seating himself opposite, he gazed at Jack with his head cocked, searching his face. 'I am very glad to see you, Captain Aubrey. Have you any news for me?'

Jack looked down. 'Sir, it grieves me to have to tell you there is no news. I had thought perhaps you might have heard -?' 

'No, no. We can find no trace of him. Alas, I fear our dear Maturin is no more. How I hope he died quick.' Jack shuddered.

'I have brought you his codebooks, sir, thinking you would not want them left lying about.' 

'And his diaries?' 

Jack hesitated. 'Sir, I can give you these,' he said, drawing three small notebooks from his pocket. 'They are encoded, as all of them are. There are others, I must admit, but I conceive they are of a personal or philosophical nature, based upon the drawings. I am reluctant in the extreme to violate my friend's privacy, even now.' 

'Well, well,' said Sir Joseph. A pause. 'I honour your discretion. May I ask you to keep them safe? We will look into these, of course, but will you consider that there might be a clue to his disappearance in the other diaries?' Jack nodded, and stood to take his leave.

~•~•~•~

Night was falling before Jack’s weary horse trotted into the yard at Ashgrove, the wolf at his heel nearly invisible in the failing light. Jack had scarcely handed the reins to Bonden when Sophie came running from the house, flying to him. Jack wrapped his arms around her and bent his head to hers, delighted and moved. They stood there for a time, kissing, murmuring to one another, until Sophie became aware they were not alone. Looking around, she was startled to see a lean, shaggy form not five feet away.

‘Jack, whatever is that?’ 

'My dear, this is Ulysses, pray welcome him – he has been a great friend to me.' 

‘Oh,’ said Sophie, with a nervous laugh. Jack’s letters had worried her: there was his obvious melancholy, of course, and she feared for his health. He had mentioned that he had taken up a dog in Valletta, but little more; she had smiled to imagine the affectionate little spaniel who would be following him about. She was prepared to find him much attached to the creature; in the last three days Bonden and Killick had made several references to Jack’s dog, once or twice carelessly using the word ‘wolf’, which had confused her. 

Courageously, she held out a hand and said, in a low voice, ‘I am pleased to meet you, Ulysses; pray be welcome at Ashgrove.’ She was alarmed again when the creature held his ground and showed his teeth, but Jack laughed and said they should get on famously, ‘For he don’t smile for just anyone, my dear.’ 

As they turned to the house, the wolf made to follow. ‘Jack, you don’t mean to bring your – dog – into the house, surely?’

‘He is perfectly safe and well-bred; he has lived with me in my cabin these many months. But if you don’t like it,’ he added, seeing her anxiety and the first hint of rebellion, ‘I dare say he can manage in the stable for tonight.’

Bidding Ulysses stay behind –‘and don’t alarm the horses’ – he turned to the house. ‘Pray how are the children?’

They proved to be asleep, to Jack’s disappointment, and he was obliged to content himself with a quick look in at the nursery. 

Some time later, Jack was finishing off a second plate of sea-pie and vegetables from his own garden, when Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘There is no news, Jack?’ she whispered. ‘None, my dear,’ he said.

~•~•~•~

'Jack, Jack,' said Sophie, shaking him. He awoke with a gasp, still in the grip of his nightmare, its particulars fading too fast to be caught. He was confused, not to be awakened, but to be awakened thus: he found he expected a nudge from a hairy muzzle, not his wife's sweet voice calling his name, not her slim arm about his shoulders.

~•~•~•~

Sophie was impressed with the wolf’s unvarying dignity, and the children were unafraid, but she asked that he be left in the stables at night; perhaps she was a little jealous of his intimacy with Jack, or self-conscious under that level gaze. Jack complied at first, remembering the unnerving revelation of Old Sodbury; but on the third morning the stable door was found to be unlatched. Jack was unsurprised at this, having boundless confidence in Ulysses’ sagacity; and as nothing untoward occurred, he was left free to patrol the grounds at night.

Jack accepted this, especially as the wolf seemed unconcerned; but he spent much of his time outside, and unaccountably left doors ajar; Sophie became used to finding the wolf lying quietly behind Jack’s chair in the sitting room, and even, once, outside their bedroom door.

~•~•~•~

One evening as Jack was playing for the children, Sophie ventured to ask that the wolf – ‘He is a wild creature, after all, Jack’ – be banished from the upper floors. Jack cried, 'Why, he is a perfect gentleman, fit for any drawing-room.' Picking up the violin, he played the beginning of a Corelli adagio, then said in invitation, 'Ulysses?' The wolf sat up and, lifting his head, he howled, low, controlled, and seemingly in harmony. The children squealed in delight, and Sophie laughed. 'Oh, Jack, however did you teach him that?'

‘I think it comes naturally – I just invited him to sing, one night, and there it was.'

~•~•~•~

Sophie did not trust the wolf near the children, however tame and clever he was, especially if Jack was not present, but she tried valiantly to hide the fact. Now and then, the wolf met her eyes, pausing briefly with a subtle tilt of his head, and she felt something not unlike shame, as if her failings were clearly seen, and forgiven; as if she had disappointed someone who loved her.

Jack left the wolf behind when he called on some of their older neighbours, and when he joined the hunt; he was obscurely wounded that Ulysses seemed to be content to let him go alone. 

On one such day, Charlotte being muddled with her needlework, Sophie had become distracted helping her. It was a pleasantly warm day, and they were seated in the area called, generously, the rose garden. 

Sophie looked up from the child’s work, realised George was not in sight, and started up; at the same moment, she heard him bawling, whether in pain or anger she could not tell. Racing for the stable-yard, she beheld her son, beating his little fists on the wolf’s head, stubbornly trying to climb under the lowest rail enclosing the small paddock where a particularly wicked mare stood snorting in alarm. Her heart stood still – she had always feared that mare, far more than any dog – and she saw that George was being restrained by a great mouthful of his coats, and the wolf was steadily dragging him back, away from the fence. In a moment she had George safely in her arms, wildly struggling, both of them crying, the one in relief, the other in frustration. Ulysses stood between them and the fence, alert, menacing nobody but the mare, she realised at last. 

Jack returned that evening to find the wolf in the tea-room with Sophie and the children, being regaled with buttered toast. She told Jack of his wonderful action, glowing with relief and happiness. “My dear, I am amazed - but, no, I ain't, now I think on it. He protects me, and Sophie, that must include you and the children. I think I never did a better day's work than when I pulled you out of that cistern, eh, old fellow?'

~•~•~•~

• London

Jack called once more at the Admiralty: still no sign of a commission. He asked for Andrew Wray again, and was again denied. He was frustrated and becoming angry, as much for Wray’s elusiveness as for that of his next ship. He knew he felt protective about everything that had belonged to Stephen; he was angry enough to consider retaining a lawyer, if only he could find one he trusted. 

Returning to the Grapes, he lunched in the inn’s parlour. Then, the day being a pleasant one, he took Ulysses and walked out. He went first to the music store in the Strand, leaving the wolf at the door. He was browsing for sheet-music, leisurely, contentedly, when he realized with a start he was looking at duets. It was a bad moment; he moved on to the table of solos, but was too disconcerted to pay much attention, instead purchasing a lump of fine rosin – Greek colophony – and walked on, somewhat bemused by the storekeeper’s barrage of information about rosins, and wondering when he had last purchased any himself. 

‘What about a walk in St James Park, old chap?’ he said, turning back along The Mall. He entered the park and walked slowly around the western edge of the lake, thinking about the abundant waterfowl in a vague, uncritical way. He was about to cross Birdcage Walk when he saw none other than Wray, approaching along the Spur, on foot and unaware of them. At his side, Ulysses was suddenly very alert; Jack was debating accosting the man here, in the public street, when to his astonishment the wolf rushed past him and flung himself upon Wray, bearing him to the ground, scrabbling and tearing at his throat, furiously growling. Jack was frozen in horror, as Wray screamed and screamed again. Then the wolf went still – there was an uncanny pause of several seconds, silent except for the gasps and terrified moans of the man beneath him; and then the black fur fell away and Jack beheld a pale, scrawny, naked man clinging to a small cross on a chain, his the other hand twisting a fistful of Wray's neckcloth, Wray still frantically struggling to escape. In the naked man's furious face Jack saw –

 

'Why, Stephen, there you are.'

A moment of shock, delight flooding in; collecting that Wray was somehow at fault he seized him with one powerful hand, never taking his eyes off Stephen, who stood there, glaring, panting. With a quelling shake, Jack dropped Wray to the pavement, pulled off his coat and draped it gently over Stephen's shoulders; with a little start, his friend seemed to realise his unclothed state on a street in London, and struggled awkwardly into the coat, which hung to his knees; he turned, curiously tentative, his smile wavering between joy and defiance as he looked up at Jack.

~•~•~•~

~•~•~•~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are the property of the much-regretted Patrick O’Brian and his heirs, and are borrowed with profound respect and love.
> 
> Beta: the awesome alltoseek
> 
> NOTES:  
> Specific passages, as well as the general story arc, were adapted, abbreviated and/or paraphrased from Aubreyad canon, with sincere apologies to the spirit of Patrick O’Brian. These include:  
> In chapter 5: The scene in Dover is from The Reverse of the Medal, ch. 4.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> The Corelli they perform for Sophie is the first adagio from the violin sonata in C, Op.5 no.3.
> 
> ~•~•~•~


	6. Epilogues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Stephen is lost, but Jack is not alone.
> 
> Spoiler alert: Spoilers for several books, especially for The Far Side of the World, but also including Post Captain, Desolation Island, Treason’s Harbour, and Reverse of the Medal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: the incomparable alltoseek  
> Thanks also to JessamyGriffin for advice and support.

Stephen could not stop talking, once he was assured that Jack would accept his occasional lapse into lupinity, just as he had accepted all his other vagaries. Jack, to whom the discovery that his particular friend was a werewolf – yet another in a series of discoveries, starting with linguist, physician, duelist, intelligence agent - was a small matter, barely a whisper against the great shout of joy in his heart, gazed at him affectionately. ‘Stephen’, he had said, shaking his head and saying it again, ‘Stephen, a werewolf is far less nuisance than all those reptiles you keep bringing aboard.’  
Jack, for his part, could not stop gazing at his long-lost friend – his friend who had been with him all along, he corrected himself – restored to him at last.

~•~•~•~

In the course of that first explanation, the first of many, Stephen told Jack that his inconvenient transformations, always three days at minimum, were the cause for his frequent episodes of lateness, inwardly hoping Jack would not inquire too closely, because in truth many of them were simply due to absent-mindedness. Similarly he attributed his sometimes excessive use of laudanum to its seeming to suppress the transformation - putting forth his theories of what controlled the frequency of changing, until he saw Jack’s eyes begin to glaze.

~•~•~•~

Over the next few days, he told Jack about hiding the reliquary at St Simon's, and spending his first days after the change trailing all the French agents, hoping to find more connections; 'but I learned nothing new, except that Wray was back from Sicily – I crossed his path a few times. But when I returned to St Simon’s at the end of the third day to find the reliquary gone, I realised Wray must have seen me hide it; I was culpably careless, in such a rush to get everything accomplished before the moon rose. I trailed Wray from the monastery to discover he had again left Malta - he had embarked on a vessel and there was no fresher trail anywhere.’  
Heaving a sigh, he continued, ‘My dear, if I was to remain a wolf, I could at least try to stay with you. I felt fairly sure that one way or another I should eventually change back; if no other way presented itself, I might have had to find my way to Montserrat; but in the event no such opportunity presented itself.’ He was quiet for a time, then added, looking into Jack’s beaming face, ‘You were kind, to take on such a strange creature; and I have not thanked you, Jack, for saving me from that wretched cistern.’

~•~•~•~

Wray was shattered, though not physically harmed beyond a few scrapes and bruises, and a sore neck from the reliquary being wrenched off; a few moments’ terror and despair had destroyed his confidence. Correspondence was found on his person that unequivocally proved he was behind a proposed stock fraud plot against Jack and certain civilians, as well as coded papers that eventually were found to be details of the current deployment and activities of the British intelligence services, in French. This called into question many Admiralty decisions based on his advice; after a certain amount of behind the scenes debate, he was charged with criminal rigging of the stock market, with other charges to follow.  
In the immediate aftermath of his return, Stephen was for the most part closeted with the delighted Sir Joseph and his colleagues. Jack went down to Ashgrove, returning a few days later with Sophie, radiantly happy.  
After a busy week or two, Jack, Stephen and Tom spent a day at the dockyard, jealously watching strangers crawl all over their beloved _Surprise_. At the end of the day, they watched the bidding until it slowed, and then Stephen leaned to Jack and said one word in his ear. Jack stood and doubled the last bid, and the thing was done – _Surprise_ was safe, and theirs.  
Jack spent the ensuing weeks on a thorough refit (privately funded, nothing too good for her) and in picking and choosing a crew. In due course he was called to the Admiralty – they seemed as conciliatory as such people ever could be, and anxious to see him and his alarming companion safely at sea - where he was offered the choice between a commission in the _Retribution_ , 74, on the Mediterranean station, or an assignment to the proposed HMHV _Surprise_ , for a detached, independent mission to South America. It was an easy choice.

~•~•~•~

One day on their way to the Azores, they had an evening of music, quite like old times. Towards the end of the second dog watch, Jack called for toasted cheese.

Putting the 'cello aside, Stephen stretched and then sat on the lockers, observing, 'You are thoughtful, brother.' 

Jack, handing his friend a refilled glass, said, 'Yes. If you don't mind my asking, how do werewolves in other places change back? They can't all go to Montserrat, nor have powerful saints to help them.' 

'I do not know. Certainly I thought about it, these past months; I could not count on finding Wray, nor was I willing to abandon you in Gibraltar, to make my way overland to Montserrat. I wondered about others of my kind, but for all I know there may be as many varieties of werewolves as there are of most other classes of creature, and what is efficacious for one might be useless or even harmful for another.'

'Well, as to that – you were not quite what one would expect, quite formidable of course, but not often. Is it not unusual to be so, well, peaceable, as a werewolf?' 

'This I attribute to my being half-Irish, as Padeen saw, may God set a flower on his head. Your Irish werewolf is more of a benign protector, a socially responsible werewolf, you might say.' 

Jack looked appraisingly at Stephen, chewing thoughtfully, then: 'Do you know, I rather miss Ulysses.' 

'Why Ulysses, for all love? Sure I am a small ugly man, and deceptive, too, though never wilfully; but I know you have no opinion of him as a sailor, either. Am I to be insulted?' 

Jack laughed. 'Not at all, brother. That poor fellow,' – he shook his head, wonderingly – 'that is, you, were so obviously all at sea – oh, ha ha, oh dear me, did you smoke it? - lost, and no sailor neither .. ' he paused, then in a lower voice, '... and it was a classical name, one my most dear, most learned friend might have liked.' 

Stephen gazed at him, then, gruffly, 'My dear, it pained me to see your grief. I am so sorry I could not find a way to tell you all would be well.'  
'Stephen … never mind that, it has all come right and I cannot regret that time. Why, you were a wonderful companion.' said Jack, thinking privately, a little bit ashamed of himself, _Always listened, never argued, didn't criticise the Navy, didn't nag about my weight or complain about my snoring, didn't scatter bits of dissections all over the cabin, didn't ask for impossible detours to see some obscure beetle ... not to mention was clean, neat and handsome. And had a better singing voice, too._  
He smiled. 'Should you ever change again, will you stay with me? Or let me come with you?'  
Stephen looked consideringly at him, and said, 'Sure, I am likely to have to change again in due course. I might not be so secretive about it, though, another time.' 

They returned to their instruments. Jack picked up his violin, adjusting the tuning, half his mind occupied with the idea of running in the woods as a wolf. _A big yellow one_ , he thought, with a smile. 

'Stephen, I have heard that werewolves can make other werewolves by biting them in the light of a full moon, or something of the sort. Do you think -?'

Stephen suppressed the leaping mirth that threatened to overcome his sobriety. Looking at Jack kindly, he placed a hand upon his arm. 'Brother, werewolves make other werewolves the same way people make other people.'

~•~•~•~

~•~•~•~

~•~•~•~

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are the property of the much-regretted Patrick O’Brian and his heirs, and are borrowed with profound respect and love.
> 
> Beta: the awesome alltoseek
> 
> NOTES:  
> Specific passages, as well as the general story arc, were adapted, abbreviated and/or paraphrased from Aubreyad canon, with sincere apologies to the spirit of Patrick O’Brian. These include:  
> In chapter 1: The header paragraph is from Treason’s Harbour, ch. 6.  
> In chapter 2: The beginning, ending with ‘I have none,’ is from Post Captain, ch. 3, as are both Killick giving the bum alarm and the brief scene on the _Amethyst_.  
>  In chapter 3: The beginning paragraph is from Treason’s Harbour, ch. 7; the rescue from the cistern is from ch. 1 of the same book.  
> In chapter 4: The storm south of Cape Horn is from The Far Side of the World, ch. 5; wolf!Stephen trying to fall out of the stern window is from ch. 7; the episode on Old Sodbury is from chs. 9 and 10; parts of Jack’s meeting with Sam are from The Reverse of the Medal, ch.1.  
> In chapter 5: The scene in Dover is from The Reverse of the Medal, ch. 4.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> The starting point for this fic was _Bisclavret_ , the 12th C. lai by Marie de France, in which the hero is stuck as a werewolf when his malicious wife removes his means of returning to human form. The werewolf spends his time serving his friend the king (as he did when he was a man); the king does not know the wolf is his friend who disappeared. Not much else survived in this fic.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> POB’s lovely phrase ‘Kind night that covers me’ presumably refers to William Ernest Henley’s _Invictus_ (1875), one part of which reads: “Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, For my unconquerable soul.” It’s a famous poem, rather odd, and I am baffled as to why POB quoted it here, unless it was an unconscious borrowing.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> The Irish words: _faoladh_ (fuh-EH-la), ‘werewolf’ and _fear_ (faar), ‘gentleman’ (or ‘master’).
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> Sam's charge and blessing: _Adiuro te, o lupo, protegatis et nisi ab clades patrem meum, dum tua vita durat, in nomine sanctae trinitatis, amen.' … 'Benedicat tibi, patruo.'_
> 
> 'I adjure thee, o wolf, protect my father and save him from harm, while your life lasts, in the name of the sacred Trinity, Amen … Bless you, my father's brother.'
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> Wolf!Stephen’s behaviour in the sickbay: Of course, he’s looking askance at Dr Clement, hopefully amusingly. But it’s all reasonable – there are many precedents (postcedents?). Animals certainly recognize infection and no doubt can hear cardiac arrhythmias, borborygmi, subvocal groans and so on; and there are many inexplicable anecdotes of animals recognizing approaching death. I was hoping the death-watch would be at least a little bit creepy: what is he doing there, anyway? Waiting to eat them? Praying?
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> Werewolf lore – the change and reversion are non-traditional in timing and cause; there is so far as I know no chapel of San Francesco near Montserrat, etc. But the St Brigid story is genuine, except the great wolf is white, not golden. I changed it to help Jack imagine himself as a werewolf. The differing character of Irish werewolves is also traditional.  
> In spite of what Stephen said, both people and wolves would get a little shiver in the presence of a werewolf, sensing something not quite ordinary. Jack, of course, sanguine and fearless, is oblivious to the uncanniness.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> If laudanum tends to prevent turning, perhaps coca leaves promote the change; Stephen is a scientist after all, so perhaps he will discover a way to change Jack.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> The Corelli they perform for Sophie is the first adagio from the violin sonata in C, Op.5 no.3.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> Many details, including the name Jack gives his temporarily lupine companion, how Bonden wakes up, why Wray decides to wear the reliquary, and more, are thanks to the incomparable alltoseek, the beta of the world; if you understood what was happening, that too is thanks to her insistence on clarity.  
> Thanks also to JessamyGriffin for valuable suggestions and general support.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> I am sorry this isn't actually spooky. I could not use the picture prompts because - imo – few spooky things are inherently scary. Wolves are not bad; if you make a wolf out of a horrible person he might tear out a woman's throat, as in one of the prompt pics, but if you make a wolf out of a good man you will get a good wolf, at least in this fic.
> 
> ~•~•~•~
> 
> ~•~•~•~


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